


Cotton Candy High

by Milieu



Category: Rune Factory (Video Games), Rune Factory 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Making Out, Mild Sexual Content, Rare Pairings, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 10:53:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10638372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milieu/pseuds/Milieu
Summary: Margaret and Dylas sneak off from work to get high and fool around by the lake.





	

Margaret was normally a stickler for rules. It kept things running smoothly, and if anyone complained and called her bossy, well, that was just evidence of how they needed her guidance. On the other hand, her businesslike nature just made it all the more appealing to those with a penchant for flouting the rules to try and get her roped into shenanigans.

Case in point, she thought, as Dylas unsubtly bumped his hip against hers on his way back to the kitchen after taking orders at the latest table. She wasn't sure who had taken it upon themselves to teach him how to actually flirt (Probably Frey. She was usually the one behind these things.), but it was making Margaret's life complicated. She didn't like things to be complicated, not outside of certain musical compositions.

Said compositions were sort of hard to concentrate on when Dylas was making eyes at her from across the restaurant all afternoon.

And okay, it was kind of exciting. Kind of dangerous. She and Dylas weren't a thing, exactly, but they had gotten a little handsy under the mistletoe after a bit too much spiked eggnog at Christmas, and Margaret always found herself flustered when he brusquely handed her a flower or a fresh bit of fruit that he had picked up on his way to work, just because he saw it and thought she'd like it. She liked _him_ , enough that she was willing to patch him up when he had been roughhousing with Doug before his shift, and to ignore the times that he and Frey would sit in his or Frey's car and hotbox right there in the lot behind the restaurant.

Margaret could play coy and say that she didn't know what she saw in him, but the truth was that Dylas was just a good, sweet guy underneath his rough exterior, she found him more than a little attractive, and he was being very,  _very_ distracting right now.

She caught him by the sleeve in-between songs, as he was passing by after checking in on the tables he was waiting. "When's your break?" She asked in a low voice.

She took a little pleasure in the surprise that flickered across his face; evidently, he hadn't been expecting anything to come of his hamfisted flirting. It felt good to have the upper hand.

Dylas glanced at the clock on the wall. "Thirty minutes."

Margaret nodded, satisfied. "Meet me outside?" She technically didn't have a scheduled break, but Porcoline was content to let her turn on the radio in place of her piano whenever she needed some time off. He wouldn't miss her too much if she slipped away.

"Y-yeah, sure," Dylas said. Meg smiled and released him, not commenting on his slight stutter. It was enough just to notice it and know that it was because of her.

Exciting. Dangerous. (And maybe the fact that sneaking a little extra time off work with a guy was enough to be classified as exciting and dangerous just proved how boring a person she actually was, as people sometimes accused her, but Margaret didn't care.)

She was waiting by Dylas's old clunker of a car by the time he emerged. He didn't quite manage a smile, and Margaret realized that he must be more nervous than she had first thought. She smiled back to hopefully ease some of the worry.

"We have enough time to go for a drive," Dylas offered. It was technically true, if all they did was drive around and then come right back. Meg nodded, not bothering to clarify. Dylas yanked the passenger-side door open more forcefully than was probably necessary, but he held it open for her like a gentleman and Meg couldn't help the little giggle that slipped out as she settled into the passenger seat.

The air conditioning was broken, but leaving the windows down as they turned down the road that led to the lake just out of town made it bearable. Dylas's right hand slid off of the steering wheel and after a few moments of visible deliberation, rested on her knee. Oftentimes, Margaret didn't fully appreciate just how large a man he was until she was right next to him, until he was touching her. She liked his hands. They told a story, she thought.

Dylas's hand left her leg briefly as he parked by the lake, in the shade of the trees and out of sight of anyone walking by on the trail. When it returned, she laid her own over it, rubbing her thumb in circles on his wrist.

"Um," Dylas began, and Meg inclined her head towards him.

"Yeah?"

There was a brief moment of visible panic as he searched for something to say, and Margaret squeezed his wrist, feeling a little guilty for putting him on the spot like this. She had a reputation for being a little judgmental, she knew, but surely Dylas also knew that she wouldn't think less of him for stumbling over his words. They knew each other well enough for that.

"Do you care if I smoke?" He blurted out, no doubt turning to his favored calming substance out of instinct. Margaret glanced at the cracked-open windows and considered both the heat and the chance of anyone catching sight or smell of the smoke if they happened by.

"If you do, can I join in?" She was once again rewarded with a satisfying expression of surprise.

"Yeah, of course."

He leaned over her to retrieve a baggie, wraps, and lighter from the glove compartment, and she watched as he rolled a joint with a practiced hand. He lit it and took a test drag, offering it to her once satisfied.

Margaret coughed a little on the inhale, but not too badly. It had been a long time since she had smoked pot, but she  _had_ smoked before; she wasn't a hippie music student with flowers in her hair for nothing, she thought with some amusement. 

They sat in companionable silence for a while, passing the joint back and forth until it burned down. Dylas's hand once again returned to Margaret's leg, a little higher up on her thigh.

Meg scooted closer as much as the seats would allow. "Um..." Her tongue felt clumsier than usual, and she had to take a moment to remember what she wanted to say. Her brain was pretty focused on just thinking  _this is nice_ over and over when Dylas looked at her and touched her with that shyness. "Do you wanna... you know..."

Dylas turned to her and mumbled something that she didn't quite catch. She leaned in closer. "Huh?"

He flushed. "I said 'come here'," he admitted. "But uh, you did anyway."

Margaret laughed, and in the middle of the laugh Dylas closed the distance between them and kissed her. She slid her hand into his hair, tugging slightly and drawing a pleasing noise out of him. There was a sluggishness to their movements, a clumsiness half due to the pot and half due to nerves and excitement, not unlike the fabled exchange under the mistletoe those months ago. Dylas bit down on her lip by accident, mumbled an apology, and made her laugh again when he flicked his tongue against her lip as though to soothe it.

His hand inched up her leg and she turned to him as best she could, sliding her knees apart as he toyed with the edge of her skirt. He paused there, rubbing his thumb over the inside of her thigh for several moments, inadvertently giving her time for it to sink in how suddenly on edge she was even through the mellow haze of their high. Words didn't seem reliable right now, so she fumbled with his uniform tie and the top couple buttons of his shirt, leaning in to press kisses over his neck and collarbone. The world felt like it was moving slower than she wanted it to.

Margaret squeaked embarrassingly as Dylas's questing fingers finally moved between her legs, rubbing uncertainly at first and then with more confidence as she breathlessly clung to him.

"Is that good?" He inquired in her ear, sounding as out of breath as she was.

"Yes, yes, yeah, do whatever you want, just-" Meg gasped, fisting her hands in the front of his shirt as a particularly pleasant jolt went through her.

Dylas twisted to the side to try and better reach, muttered a curse as his elbow bumped the steering wheel, and pulled away to adjust his seat further back. Leaning back in the seat, he held one arm out to her. Meg took the hint and swung her leg over with some difficulty, settling into his lap and securing her thighs more snugly around his waist. They exchanged smaller kisses, lips questing over jaws and necks while Margaret fumbled the rest of his shirt buttons open and he hiked her skirt up and peeled her tights down to her thighs. His hands rested on her butt for a moment, squeezing, and he groaned softly when she ground her hips down towards his.

"How f-far...?" He managed to stammer out.

Margaret had to pause to fully consider his words through the various forces impeding her brain. "Not all the way, not here. But..." She swallowed, smiling a little nervously. "Don't leave me hanging and I won't either?"

Dylas nodded jerkily, and for once she was glad of his nerves because at least it meant she wasn't the only one. He undid his belt and pants with a bit more cursing and Margaret slid her panties down. There was no more talking except for fragments of sentences urging each other on, and once Margaret gasping out, half-laughing, how she had been thinking she liked his hands. She bit down on his lip, and then his earlobe, then his neck, leaving tiny red marks, and thought about how she would probably have bruises the size of his fingerprints on her thigh as he tried to steady them both with a tight grip on her leg.

It wasn't quite a lightning strike, but electricity still shuddered through her, sizzling after a slow build of pleasure. Dylas bit down on her shoulder and immediately apologized again as soon as he found his voice. As they caught their breath, Margaret leaned back to look at him with half-lidded eyes.

She was probably going for sultry, Dylas realized, but in truth she just looked incredibly stoned. The thought was enough to make him start laughing, and Meg stuck her tongue out at him, and then she accidentally bumped the steering wheel with her rear and caused the horn to honk while readjusting her clothes, which sent both of them into borderline hysterics.

"God- roll down the windows some more, I'm dying here." Meg gasped between giggles, sliding off of him and into a heap in the passenger seat, brushing a sweat-damp lock of hair out of her face. He grinned at her, far more at ease this time, and obliged.

"Porcoline's going to be looking for us," Dylas remarked as he struggled to do the buttons of his shirt back up. He succeeded, realized belatedly that he had somehow gotten them buttoned unevenly, and decided he didn't care enough to try again. Margaret rolled her eyes and reached over to fix it.

"He won't be mad if we're honest." When Dylas raised his eyebrows at her, she swatted his arm. "I just mean telling him we lost track of time. It's not a lie."

He snorted. "I guess not. He might ask about the smell..."

"Oh please, like nobody's ever baked pot brownies in that kitchen." Dylas gave her a disbelieving look. "Come on, have you  _met_ Porcoline's family?"

"I'll take your word for it." Dylas shook his head and started the car.

Margaret's hand rested on his arm as they drove back towards town, and he could still feel her warmth lingering long after she had pulled away.


End file.
